


I'm Radioactive, Radioactive

by AstralDragons



Series: Symptoms [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Peter, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, emetophobia trigger warning (Peter throws up a lot), no beta we die like men, self-indulgent whump yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralDragons/pseuds/AstralDragons
Summary: Alt. title: "in which Peter has negative side effects from getting bitten by a radioactive spider; you know, as one normally does after being exposed to radiation in their bloodstream."This kid is going to be the reason Tony has a heart attack. He just knows it.





	I'm Radioactive, Radioactive

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, it's nice to finally get some hurt/comfort writing out of my system for the first time in a long while. Enjoy, dear reader!

It had only been a little headache.

 

They happened all the time, so what was one more next to all the rest? Just a little headache, nothing that a heavier dose of Ibuprofen couldn’t fix. 

 

This headache, unlike all the rest, had stayed, but Peter could handle it. He was Spider-Man, for heaven’s sake-- he’d been through  _ way _ worse before. The headache had been annoying, but he could deal with annoying.

 

A few weeks later, the nausea set in. That had been… a bit  _ more  _ of an inconvenience, given the fact that swinging around like a trapeze artist all throughout New York was kind of his ‘thing’. It had been okay, though, really-- just some dumb flu virus he’d caught from school, probably, since public schools tend to be germ-infested cesspools anyway. He would get over it soon enough.

  
  


He didn’t ‘get over it’. Another two weeks had passed and he only felt worse every day.

 

But it wasn’t a huge deal, really. Crime in New York  _ never  _ slept, and he had a moral obligation to help everyone he possibly could in a day. Just because he had some stupid, persistent flu virus didn’t mean he needed to bench himself for a week or two. He would get better-- he always had.

 

Another week had passed.

 

He’s in the middle of roping up some criminals and writing a hasty note for the police when the world around him begins to swirl. 

Peter frowns as he stumbles, nausea rising up in his chest. Everything hurts-- his skull feels like it’s cracking wide open from the pain and it would be a  _ relief _ to throw up right now with how badly his stomach is twisting itself in knots.

 

The world is spinning in circles. The falling snow around him is making him feel more nauseous-- the patterns are everywhere, everything is swirling--

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and steps backwards. He can hear police sirens approaching and he can’t risk having his identity exposed. With a simple  _ click _ , his web-shooters fire out two silken streams and he yanks himself up onto a nearby building.

 

The snow keeps falling, even as he faceplants--  _ hard _ \-- onto the sturdy, cold concrete of the rooftop. The snow keeps falling even as he desperately claws at his mask, only pushing it up to the bridge of his nose in time for him to expel everything he’d eaten for dinner. The snow refuses to stop, and so does the seemingly-endless waves of nausea and vomit coming out of Peter. He thinks he’s crying, sobbing in pain, but god he can’t even tell up from down anymore. It’s all a messy blur.

 

In between puking fits, he hears a familiar, soft voice-- she sounds like she’s murmuring in his ear, which she  _ technically _ is, since she’s an AI bound to his suit.

“Peter?” Karen prods, sounding so,  _ so  _ comforting, sounding like May whenever he got sick and needed to stay home from school…

“Peter,” the AI repeats, a little more firmly when he doesn’t respond. “Your blood pressure is dangerously low. I’m alerting Tony Stark--”

 

Peter tries to shake his head, but he cuts himself off with a moan. Even moving his head an inch to the right or left makes everything spin faster and god he thinks he’s gonna puke again--

“Kar… Karen, no, c’m… c’mon, it’s jus’ a flu, ‘m fine, no need to call--”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter as, instead of a verbal response from Karen, his ears are met with the sound of a dial tone.

 

_ Stupid AI. Traitor. _

 

Before he can hear the dreaded sound of Tony Stark’s voice, Peter’s stomach heaves once more. He has nothing left to cough up but bitter bile that makes his nose and throat burn. 

 

It comes out streaked with red.

 

Red, like his suit, like the nosebleed he had last week in his Spanish class... It’s everywhere. There should  _ definitely  _ not be red in his vomit, because he still has the mental capacity to recognize the fact that  _ that is not normal. _

 

“...d? Hey! Kid, what the hell is going on? Are you throwing up?”

 

A low whine escapes Peter’s lips before he can stifle it back.

“‘M fine, Mr. Stark, jus’... jus’ the flu, li’l dizzy--”

“‘Fine’? Kid, I’m getting notifications from your suit and your biometrics are complete  _ shit _ right now. I’m sending a suit over--”

“Noooo…!”

“I am  _ sending a suit over there _ , whether you like it or not. You’re in no condition to be swinging around like Tarzan right now, got it? Just  _ stay. Put. _ Or so help me god, I’ll take the suit again.  _ Capiche? _ ”

 

There’s no response.

 

Mr. Stark’s voice is so loud… it seems to be getting louder by the second, but for the life of him, Peter can’t make out a single thing he’s saying.

_ I’m just gonna… just gonna take a nap… ‘m so tired… _

Peter thinks he might be laying in a puddle of his own stomach acid. Gross, but god, he feels so heavy…

_ Just a little nap… _

  
  


Peter jolts awake as he’s moved, his skin prickling as something hard slides under his armpits. He groans and whines as the rooftop falls away from his feet and the bitterly-cold winter air eagerly slices at the exposed lower half of his face. 

When his eyes blearily slide open, he makes the mistake of looking down.

 

He hopes that the stream of puke he just let out doesn’t land on somebody in the streets. That would be really embarrassing.

Or on their car. He thinks he’s heard something about stomach acid being bad for the coat of paint on a car.

Either way, bad. Bad, bad, bad. Spider-Man should not be puking on civilians.

 

He lets out a reedy, hysterical laugh at that. Why is that sentence so funny? It seems so hilarious, just some superhero guide saying not to puke on the civilians--

 

“Hey, c’mon, kid. Stay with me here. Stay awake; we’re almost there.”

 

Almost where?  _ Wow _ he is so tired.

Is that Mr. Stark’s voice? He’s pretty sure it is-- and he thinks that the man had said something about sending a suit over to pick him up?

 

Euh. Aunt May is gonna kill him. He has  _ school _ tomorrow.

Is the stats test tomorrow or is that next week…?

 

“...d.  _ Kid _ .  _ Peter. _ C’mon, short stuff, talk to me. No falling asleep, got it?”

 

Peter frowns at that, tilting his head back ever so slightly. The sleek, metallic faceplate of an Iron Man suit is right next to his head, staring with neutral, glowing-cyan eyes.

Peter slowly blinks before letting his head droop back down to its original position.

“Mmmmm… ‘M fine, Mr. Starrrrk… jus’ the flu…”

 

“Whatever you have going on is definitely more than ‘ _ just the flu _ ’, kid. You’re not  _ fine _ , but I’m taking you to the Avengers Tower.  _ Then  _ you’re gonna be fine.”

 

Peter whines a string of incomprehensible words, not even making sense to himself. “But I got… gotta… study… mmgh…”

 

Mr. Stark’s voice scoffs, loud and clear right next to his ear. “Are you serious? You’re in no condition to even  _ move _ , much less study.”

“It’s statistics,” Peter responds firmly, as though that were the answer to everything. 

“Oh hush, I’ve seen you blow through college math equations with hardly any issue, kid. You’re not gonna die if you have to miss a day or two, got it?”

 

Peter thinks he nods, but he’s not quite sure. Even with all the cold wind slapping him in the face, he feels so, so exhausted and everything hurts. It’s upsetting that he can hear Mr. Stark’s voice getting louder again-- he seems upset and Peter doesn’t like seeing Mr. Stark upset, he just wants to make Iron Man proud of him and not upset because upset is bad, very, very bad…

 

Peter feels unnaturally warm, as though everything is muted in a massive ball of cotton, when he drifts back into unconsciousness.

 

===

 

_ “Perform a scan--” _

_ “--can’t be right, I would have known--” _

 

_ “Fuck, Banner, I don’t care, just get your ass over here--!” _

 

Someone is touching his face. Their hand is calloused, but gentle against Peter’s cheek. He frowns and tries to open his eyes, but they’re so heavy…

 

Voices. He can hear voices-- two men. One voice is familiar but the other isn’t.

 

“C’mon, kid. Stay with me. Can you hear me?”

Peter’s brows furrow, but he’s fighting a losing battle against the waves of exhaustion consuming his body. “Mnnn…”

“Stay with me. Stay awake, kid, got it?  _ Stay awake _ . That’s an order.”

 

An order? Shit.

Peter doesn’t know if he can follow that one, so tired, but that voice--

“Miiis…” he chokes out before trying again. “M’ster S...Starrrrk…?”

 

The hand is pressing against his face so desperately. Peter can feel every minute detail-- his skin is prickling and sensitive, and so  _ cold _ \--

 

“Yeah. Yeah, kid, it’s me. You’re gonna be fine-- Banner is helping us out, okay?”

 

_ Banner. _

_ Banner? _

_ Like, Bruce Banner? The actual genius and the literal HULK, Bruce Banner? _

 

“Oh.”

 

_ Nice comeback, Parker. _

 

He’ll come up with something better later, hopefully. He’s so tired and that really kind of sucks, since he really wanted to take a good look at Bruce Banner… 

 

_ Mmm just… just a little nap…  _

 

“...ey! Hey, goddamnit kid, I… an order!... wake! Stay with m...”

 

_ Why is Mr. Stark yelling…? This sucks. He doesn’t feel very good, but Mr. Stark won’t mind if he just takes a little nap… just a little one. Maybe twenty minutes. So, sooo tired…  _

 

_ “Banner, what the f… going on…?!” _

_ “Working on… hand me the… iodide--” _

 

Peter tries his best to hang onto the two voices, but they eventually slip away. Balloon strings, the voices attached to them just… drift away into the sky. Pretty balloons. His uncle, he’d given Peter the balloons, but he’d let them go, let them soar free into the sky, and Ben had just smiled--

 

So dark.

So… so very tired…

 

===

 

When Peter finally comes to, his brain is attempting to forcefully break through his skull.

 

In other words, his head  _ hurts like all hell. _

 

His eyes aren’t even open yet, but he can already tell that the lights in here are far too bright. Not like his room-- god, can someone turn the lights off…?

 

Much to his surprise, the lights pounding on the outside of his eyelids dims to something far more manageable. Had someone heard him?

Peter twitches his fingers and curls his toes-- it feels like his entire body fell asleep, he’s so numb and his skin is prickling uncomfortably, and there’s something weird pressed against his wrist, and he doesn’t like it--

 

“Hey. Hey, c’mon, kid, don’t pull your IV out.”

 

Peter’s brows furrow.

Then he tentatively blinks. His vision is annoyingly blurry and his eyes feel so crusted up--

He blinks again. And again, once more.

Standing there, hovering over him and seeming larger than life itself, is Tony Stark. 

 

Also, this is definitely not his room. The room is so big and fancy, probably way more expensive than the entire apartment he lives in.

 

“Mr. Stark…?” Peter manages, wincing at how dry his throat feels. “Where…?”

“Avengers Tower, kid.” Tony is leaning down, getting closer. The calloused hand is touching Peter’s, moving it-- away from an IV? He hadn’t even been aware that he’d been trying to pull it out. “You got really sick, remember? I took you here. Banner helped me get you back in working order.”

 

Peter frowns, sniffling as he can begin to feel his own face again.

“...Wh… Sick?”

 

_ The puking. All over the rooftop. Onto the street below, while flying-- _

 

“...Oh. ‘M sorry, Mr. Stark, I… I didn’t mean for Karen to call--”

 

Tony scoffs harshly at that. “It’s a good thing that ‘Karen’ called me when she did, or you’d have been in even worse shape. Kid, what the  _ hell  _ were you thinking? When did you even get the  _ chance _ to come into contact with  _ literal goddamn radiation _ and why did you  _ not tell me? _ ”

 

Peter opens his mouth and lets it stay there for a moment as he tries to process everything Mr. Stark had just said to him.

_ Radiation? I haven’t gotten anywhere near radiation since-- since-- _

_ Oh. _

_ But why now? Shouldn’t it have showed up sooner…? _

 

“The spider,” Peter fumbles, his lips and tongue feeling entirely foreign. “Bite. Radioactive.”

 

Tony’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? What spider?”

 

“Radioactive… spider. Bit me. ‘S been… a year…? Thought you knew?”

 

Tony Stark, in a rare display of any emotion besides snark, looks utterly  _ baffled _ . “That’s-- Is that how you got your powers? Seriously? A  _ spider bite _ ?”

 

“Radioactive spider bite,” Peter mumbles defensively. “Glowing ‘n everything.”

 

Tony opens his mouth to speak before closing it again, frowning. “...Okay, so a radioactive spider bit you a year ago. That doesn’t answer why or how you only got radiation sickness  _ now _ .”

 

“I might have an answer for that.”

 

Tony and Peter blink, gazes shifting to the rather plain-looking, mousy scientist entering the room, clipboard and all. If Peter didn’t know any better, Bruce Banner seemed just like your average doctor, minus the scrubs.

 

Bruce leans against the wall near Tony, eyeing Peter. “It looks like the radiation poisoning had been there for a while-- unfortunately, radiation sickness tends to go quiet for a while before reappearing once cells start to die… you just had a very,  _ very _ delayed reaction, because from what I can tell, your cells regenerate unusually fast, kid.”

He coughs awkwardly, glancing to the side. “Believe me, I know how much it sucks. The good news, though, is that you’re gonna make a full recovery. You’ll just need a lot of fluids-- along with a few daily doses of potassium iodide-- and the radioiodine should clear out on its own, especially with that enhanced healing factor you’ve got going on.”

 

Peter blinks before tentatively nodding. “...Am I good to go home, then? I still have school in the morning, and--”

 

“That’s going to be a no from me, unfortunately,” Banner interrupts, his face firm. “You still need to keep the IV in for at least another twenty-four hours, and I’ll need to monitor your biometrics and administer the potassium iodide.”

 

Peter grimaces in dismay. “My stats test--”

 

Tony finally pipes up, his hand patting against Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ll make sure your school knows that you’re taking an excused medical leave of absence.”

 

Peter prepares to counter the statement, but the words die in his throat. He can’t really argue with that, can he? Besides, maybe it would be nice to have a few days off from school…

So, instead of arguing, the teenager nods and slumps back into the sheets he’s tucked into. (The sheets are so warm and soft and he kinda has to wonder who tucked him in like this--) Before he can relax, however, he suddenly stiffens.

“Oh no, Aunt May is gonna  _ kill _ me--”

“Already told her what’s up, kid. Don’t worry,” Tony interrupts. “Well. I let her know that you weren’t feeling so hot. I didn’t tell her about the whole… radiation thing. Because then you and me would probably  _ both _ be dead meat.”

 

Peter sighs, his muscles relaxing once more. “Okay. Good.”

 

Bruce nods to Peter and Tony. “I need to run downstairs and prep another dose of the iodide, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. Tony, you keep the kid company, alright? Get him some water, and maybe an extra blanket-- his blood pressure is still pretty low.”

 

Tony frowns, about to say something along the lines of ‘I’m not a nursemaid’, but for once, he stays quiet and nods. Bruce, seemingly satisfied, turns on his heel and heads out the door once more.

 

As soon as he’s gone, Tony huffs. “Alright, water, extra blanket. F.R.I.D.A.Y., you got that?”

Peter nearly starts as a calm, soft voice echoes around the two of them from the walls. 

_ “Absolutely, sir. They’re being sent up as we speak.” _

 

“Good,” he grumbles before tiredly running a hand through his dark hair. Now that Peter is a bit more awake, Tony seems… well,  _ exhausted _ . The rings under his eyes are far more prominent than usual.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter tentatively questions, almost unsure if the AI will respond. Surely enough, though, the pleasant voice returns.

_ “Yes, Mr. Parker?” _

 

“I-it’s Peter, actually, just Peter--” he fumbles before biting his lip. “Um… what time is it?”

 

_ “It is currently 2:03 AM, Peter.” _

 

Peter gulps dryly, ignoring how it makes his throat ache. “...Oh. U-um. Thank you.”

 

_ “You’re quite welcome. Your water and blanket will be there in just a few more moments.” _

 

He nods before nervously looking over at Tony. “God, Mr. Stark, I’m really sorry-- I didn’t mean to keep you up so late, I mean, you probably have a lot to do and I didn’t mean to--”

 

Tony snorts and shakes his head, finally halting the motion of tiredly rubbing his hand over his face. “Pssh, no need to apologize, kid. I’d probably be in the lab until four this morning, even if you hadn’t gotten sick. I’m not even that busy, either.”

 

That isn’t entirely true and he may or may not have had to cancel an eight AM meeting, but it surely would have been boring as hell anyway. Tony definitely had no qualms about that, even though Pepper might be more than a little grumpy about rescheduling his little chat with the business eggheads over at Oscorp.

 

“...You should probably sleep,” Peter tentatively prods. “I know you, um… said it’s no big deal, but you look really tired, and… I can probably just sleep after Mr. Banner gives me another dose…”

 

“Nah, kid, I’m fine.” Tony stifles a yawn and leans back against the wall beside Peter’s bed. “Still gotta have a chat with Banner after he doses you up-- ‘sides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on you just in case you get nauseous again. I don’t trust Dum-E to clean up vomit or whatnot without making an even worse mess at this point.”

 

Peter snorts quietly at that-- as fond as he is of the little robot, he’s  _ very _ aware of Dum-E’s…  _ quirks _ . Including the webbing canister incident.

 

It was a  _ very _ good thing that Peter’s webs disintegrated after a mere two hours, but god, the lab had been an utter wreck until the webbing had fallen apart.

“Yeah, that’s… probably a smart idea,” Peter huffs breathlessly, settling back into the pillow behind his head. He slowly blinks as a knock sounds on the door before-- speak of the Devil-- Dum-E rolls into the room. A quilt is draped over its ‘back’ and a plastic souvenir cup full of ice water is clutched in its grasping claw.

 

Peter stifles a laugh as Dum-E shoves the cup into Tony’s hands before spinning in circles in an attempt to dislodge the quilt on itself. Tony merely sighs, yanking the blanket off the robot in one swift movement.

“Alright, alright, Dum-E, get back to the lab. Thanks for not getting water all over the floor again.”

 

The robot makes a weird sort of ‘chirp’, performing one last spin before rolling out of the room once more.

 

Tony is sorely craving a glass of whiskey right about now.

Instead, he huffs and drapes the blanket over Peter before offering the cup of water.

“You good to hold this yourself, or do you need me to help?”

 

Peter grunts and shifts, moving himself into a somewhat upright position. He shakily takes the cup from Tony-- he’s a little embarrassed when Tony’s hand lingers on his, probably just making sure Peter doesn’t spill water on himself and the blankets-- before tentatively taking a sip.

 

The ice water is cool against his burning, chapped throat and it feels like  _ heaven _ . Peter is still too queasy to gulp the water down like he so badly wishes he could, but a few more sips have him feeling at least fifty times better than when he had first woken up. He closes his eyes and softly exhales, his eyelids already getting heavier once more.

 

Peter can feel Tony removing the cup from his limp fingers.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter manages, tiredly slumping back into the blankets where it’s nice and warm and the headache doesn’t hurt nearly as bad.

 

“Don’t sweat it, kid. Get some rest, alright?”

“Mmmmmhm…”

 

As Peter is beginning to drift off, he thinks he feels that familiar, calloused hand ruffling his hair. Dr. Banner would probably be back any second now to inject the latest dose of potassium iodide into his system-- it would probably wake him up, but for now, he doesn’t really care.

 

For the first time in ages, Peter feels completely and utterly safe… and he easily slips into a peaceful night’s sleep under his mentor’s watchful gaze.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated, thank you!


End file.
